Little Lightning
by Celesti Rivers
Summary: She's fast, and she's good at what she does. Confidence and sure-footedness is never a problem. And yet, feisty, sarcastic, and strong-willed Erin Donoghue faces an annoyance that goes by the name of Oliver Wood. Damn him and his boyish yet strangely attractive features. Oneshot, OW/OC, mentions of Percy/Audrey.
**It was in my head and I had to get it out. Erin Donoghue is an OC from my story _Stronghold_ , if anyone wants more background on her :)**

* * *

 _Little Lightning_

* * *

 _18 March 1999 | Late Morning | Audrey and Erin's Flat_

There was nothing else that confirmed a wild night quite so well as the feeling of waking up and not being able to open one's eyes.

It was as if the body was ready to get moving, and the mind was aware, but some small little leprechaun placed impossibly heavy weights on one's eyelids. This was the feeling that Erin faced. Her brain seemed to be working fine, she could sense the soft feeling of her sheets, the dryness of her mouth (damn her for not drinking a glass of water before bed, what an amateur drinker move), and the scent of clean linen, the piney smell of her Muggle incense bottle, and, oddly enough, a couple new smells. Freshly cut wood with a light hint of cologne and... broomstick wax?

And yet, despite this incomplete image, the willpower to remove the weights from her eyelids and bring her limbs to life was simply not strong enough. After a certain age, alcohol seemed to lead to a completely incapacitating, nausea-driven coma. It had certainly been a while since Erin's last night of heavy drinking, which certainly didn't help the situation, but if she hadn't celebrated St. Patrick's Day and a race victory like a proper Irishwoman, then her last name wasn't Donoghue.

Now, despite Erin's semi-comatose state, there were three specific things that would stimulate her senses so much that she would hop out of bed faster than you could say "Hungarian Horntail." Those three things were, in order of importance: the smell of freshly cooked food, the sound of a broomstick snapping, and signs of an intruder.

(No, it was not irrational at all to prioritize nourishment over intruders.)

In this particular moment, it was signs of an intruder that sent Erin's senses into overdrive.

The bed shifted ever so slightly and her eyes snapped wide open. Without hesitation, Erin jumped out of bed and landed on her feet like a vicious cat, blonde curls flying as she hissed, " _Il y a un homme dans mon lit!_ "

Erin blinked several times and shook the French out of her head before racing out of her room to furiously knock on Audrey's door. After excessive knocking, the door violently swung open to reveal her best friend, anger etched onto her fatigued face and dark brown hair askew.

" _What_ ," Audrey demanded. Her tone did not implicate much questioning.

After a brief pause, Erin quietly replied, "There is an unknown human in my bed. Please identify, my memory's a tad, er - "

"Erased by alcohol," Audrey interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

"Sure, we'll go with that," Erin agreed. "So, uh - "

"I don't know, Erin," Audrey answered. "Percy and I left the party _way_ before you. Only Merlin knows what poor boy you dragged in this time."

"Yes, well really _only_ Merlin knows because I am just - " Erin paused to let out a huff, then covered her face with her hands. She added, voice muffled, " _Merde_ , I am too old for this."

"Preaching to the choir," Audrey muttered, before closing the door to her bedroom with a sarcastic roll of her eyes.

With a dejected sigh, Erin dragged her feet back to her bedroom, dreading having to face whoever was in her bed. Hopefully she would at least recall his name upon seeing his face.

Erin quietly swung open the door of her bedroom and slowly closed it behind her. She cautiously turned to face whatever mistake she made last night, just as the mistake in question shuffled around and made his face visible.

And in that moment, Erin's jaw dropped and the entire night came flooding back to her. Unfortunately, the _real_ dilemma had started two weeks earlier.

* * *

 _4 March 1999 | Evening | Diagon Alley_

"Okay, so, why are we doing this again?"

"Percy and I thought it would be nice for our friends to meet."

Erin rolled her eyes and leaned against the bathroom countertop, pointedly glaring at Audrey. "Yeah, but, like," she started, clearly at a loss for any good comeback, "I'm a busy woman."

"I'm sorry you can't yell at this week's edition of _Witch Weekly_ for being sexist," Audrey sympathized sarcastically. "I sincerely hope you'll be able to reschedule such a life-changing appointment to tomorrow."

"No can do, Miss Callaghan, I have a very important day of sitting around scheduled for all of tomorrow," Erin replied in an equally sarcastic tone.

Audrey only scoffed and continued to touch up her make-up.

"So since I'm basically your only friend, is it gonna be us two up against a horde?" Erin asked after a short moment of silence.

"I don't know who Percy's bringing," Audrey admitted, putting away all of her products before meeting Erin's eyes, "so we'll have to be ready for anything."

"How _exciting_ ," Erin mused jokingly.

Audrey held out her hand with a disapproving shake of her head and said, "Then what are we waiting for? The party awaits."

Erin took her close friend's hand and the two apparated to Diagon Alley. One gut-wrenching, nausea-inducing moment later, the pair of women were standing in the middle of a crowded cobblestone street, the sunset visible between crowded buildings. Smoothing down their dresses, Erin and Audrey stepped into the Three Broomsticks together.

The trickle of patrons into the pub was still slow and steady at that point, as it was not late enough for the usual crowd to come in and start their fun. It was just the perfect atmosphere for what Erin was sure to become a large, boisterous group by the time that hour did arrive.

Oh, how wrong she was.

"Wow, you both only have one friend," she whispered to Audrey. "Nerds."

"Piss off," Audrey muttered in reply.

The two women approached Percy, who was waving at them with a smile on his face from a table he had reserved. For the most part, Erin liked Percy. He was smart and nice, and he made Audrey happy, which was already more than the average person could accomplish. He may have been a little odd in his own bookish way, but then again, so was Audrey.

Percy and his friend, who Erin thought looked oddly familiar stood up to greet them. Percy shook hands with Erin and leaned in to give Audrey a peck on the lips before offering to take her coat for her. "I suppose we should do some introductions," he proposed.

"Right," Audrey agreed with a nod. "Erin, this is Oliver Wood, Percy's friend from Hogwarts."

"We met once in Diagon Alley," Oliver added with a crooked smile and a thick Scottish accent. "I recall you being worked up about something."

"Ah, but when am I not?" Erin replied. She vaguely remembered the day, but Erin had a habit of just... _not remembering_ events she deemed as useless. It was just a waste of space in her opinion.

"I wouldn't know, we've really only just met," Oliver retorted cheekily as the four took their seats.

Erin narrowed her eyes slightly and did not reply. There was something irksome about this man. Maybe it was his face. It was far too nice to be believed. And what was with that constant smile? Honestly, it was ridiculous. Simply put, this Oliver Wood just annoyed Erin.

Yes, of course she had just met him, but that was beside the point.

The night started with them ordering food and drinks, and Erin couldn't help but notice how oddly... _friendly_ Oliver was being with the waitress. Maybe that's why he bugged her - Oliver Wood was a closeted ladies' man. Had to be it.

"Y'know, Erin, Oliver here plays for Puddlemere," Audrey started. "Just got taken off reserve for the new season."

With lips pressed together, Erin nodded slowly before carefully saying, "That must be exciting for you. What position do you play?"

"Keeper," Oliver stated proudly. "What about you, do you play Quidditch?"

"Oh, is that the only sport in the Wizarding World?" Erin questioned mockingly. "I wasn't aware!"

"Oi, stop being so nippy," Audrey scolded.

" _Merde alors_ ," Erin muttered under her breath before looking up from her half-finished meal of fish and chips to meet eyes with Oliver. "No, I don't play Quidditch anymore, I compete in broomstick races."

"And how do those work then?" Oliver inquired, a look of curiosity dawning his boyish yet strangely attractive features.

 _Ha! This... **imbécile**... he is **not** attractive!_

"It's quite simple," Erin replied. "The strongest witch or wizard knows how to push their broom to the max and scale the dangerous terrain of the race route. It's a matter of skill."

"Why don't you come see for yourself?" Audrey proposed. "Erin has her final race of the season in two weeks. Percy and I were planning to go, you should tag along. I think we'll be able to get another ticket."

"That's a good idea," Percy said supportingly. "I've been pretty excited myself, not often you get to watch a broomstick race!"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Oliver answered, his gaze unwavering from Erin's eyes.

With a glare on her face, Erin angrily chomped on a chip. Bloody Audrey and her bloody brilliant ideas.

* * *

 _17 March 1999 | Early Morning | Banff, Scotland_

Erin jogged over to the Racer's Tent and quickly stepped into the bigger-on-the-inside canvas. Conditions were not good. It was pouring rain - so much that she could barely see five feet in front of her - and it was as windy as a damn hurricane. This would be a tough race, especially since the current record holder for the 500 mile race, Andrea Varga on Team Hungary, would be racing right alongside her.

This was truly the first time that Erin felt nervous.

Not just because Andrea was the scariest woman alive, but also because this was the first time Erin had made it to finals in her flying career. She wanted to succeed, and she feared failure.

Erin sat down on one of the couches and mindlessly started adjusting her gear. Tightening and loosening her padding on her knees, elbows, and shoulders, playing around with the strap of her flying goggles, retying her boots countless times, obsessively tucking in her skin-tight shirt. She didn't even notice Audrey, Percy, and Oliver approaching her.

"Why so fidgety?" Audrey questioned, snapping Erin out of her obsessive stupor.

Erin looked up at the trio, blue eyes wide in slight surprise. "Just getting ready, that's all," she replied stonily.

Audrey narrowed her eyes at her best friend but didn't push the topic further. Erin knew that the brunette Auror in training didn't believe her one bit - they had known each other for far too long - but Audrey also wasn't one to pry without invitation.

"Well, good luck out there," Audrey added. She looked at Percy and said, "We should go see if we can help set up Umbrella Charms or something. It's a bloody mess out there."

"I'll meet you two by the stands," Oliver stated. As Percy and Audrey left, he dropped down on the couch next to Erin. Erin continued to play around with the turtleneck collar of her racing jersey and the ties on her gloves.

"Nervous?" Oliver asked after a moment of silence.

"No," Erin snapped, still not meeting his gaze. "This isn't my first race, _tu sais_?"

"Well, I can't say I know all that much about broomstick races, but there's one thing I learned from Quidditch that I think is applicable to pretty much anything," Oliver started. "It's easy to get nervous and see everything that could go wrong when you're so close to getting what you want. But the only thing you can do is try your hardest and push your limits, and if you still don't succeed, well - there's always next year."

A small smile and a muffled laugh escaped Erin. She sighed and looked up at Oliver. His light brown eyes were staring right at her and he had a kind smile on his face. In that moment, his face didn't seem so irritating anymore. "Yeah, I guess you're right about that," she admitted. "It's just - this Andrea Varga, she's four years older than me and the youngest record-setter in the history of broomstick racing. She set her record when she was twenty-two, and I'm only twenty-one, and the odds just seem to be against me is all."

Oliver rested a reassuring hand on Erin's shoulder and replied, "I'm sure she was thinking something along the same lines three or four years ago too."

Erin nodded slowly and sighed. Before she could reply with a thank you, one of her teammates, Subira, ran into the tent yelling, "Erin! 500 mile race starts in twenty minutes, start warming up!"

Erin stood up to address Subira. "Yeah I'm going, I'm going," she muttered. "Has Kiera finished yet?"

"Yup, second place," Subira answered. She nodded towards Oliver and asked, "Who's this?"

"Oliver Wood, he's Audrey's boyfriend's friend," Erin explained. "Oliver, this is one of my teammates, Subira."

"Oliver Wood... are you the new Puddlemere Keeper?" Subira asked with a glint in her eyes.

"Indeed I am," Oliver answered, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "I'm gonna head out to see if Percy and Audrey need any help."

Before Subira could further interrogate Erin, she left the tent to start warming up for the race.

Truth be told, the rain and wind made it a little difficult to feel warm at all. Nevertheless, Erin did her exercises and kept in mind what Oliver had said. She would have to perform above and beyond any performance ever if she wanted to beat Andrea.

Before she knew it, the race announcer called for the 500 mile racers to assemble along the start line. Erin took her place at the start line and waited for the official to come by to check her broom. The race route was long and, in this weather, treacherous. It followed the coast of Scotland from Banff to somewhere near Bettyhill, which was the turnaround point. 500 miles of waves, fog, rocks, and having to watch your own back in case someone tried to shove you aside to get the advantage.

That was the scary thing about racing. There was no passing etiquette. You could knock another racer off their broom if you wanted to. The only thing you couldn't do was take a short cut. The racing route was under a Mapping Spell, which showed up as bright gold in the sky, as well as on the maps of the observers. On those maps, every flyer was visible as a different coloured dot as long as they were within the spell boundaries. You could disappear from the map, as long as you reappeared in the right place. Otherwise, it would be consider cheating and would result in an immediate ten-year suspension.

Erin's gaze was fixed on the glowing path that shot straight ahead and into the grey clouds as an observer examined her broom and pinned her tracker onto her shirt. She shifted her eyes to the stands and saw Oliver, Audrey, and Percy in the front row. Oliver gave her his usual crooked smile and a thumbs up, which had a strangely calming effect on Erin. The sounds of smack talk and the commentator drowned out to nothing, until the world was silent except for the strong pattering of rain.

The _bang_ of the starting spell and the bright sparks shooting from the commentator's wand brought all the noise back at once and Erin kicked off the ground without hesitation.

The key to doing well was getting out of the neck-and-neck situation early on in the race. In that moment, six competitive women were lined up side by side, pushing the magic of their brooms a little too much. Erin was racing between Andrea Varga and another woman around her age from France. _Varga's a problem for a later time_ , Erin thought to herself as the record-setter did her typical getaway move. The Hungarian allowed her broom to freefall into the clouds below, a distraction that slowed down the momentum of all the other racers just enough for Varga to speed upwards, shoulder bump a few women, and zoom out of sight.

Beside the French racer was one more competitor, this one from Austria. A plan quickly formed in Erin's mind. She swerved her broom to bump the French racer, who bumped into the Austrian. The Austrian, in turn, angrily swerved into the French racer. Erin took this opportunity to swerve again, at the exact same time as the Austrian. She placed as much pressure on the duo as she could and, at the last minute, zoomed upwards and left the other four behind her. Erin could hear the angered yells of a collision behind her and allowed herself a small victory smile as she sped up and kept her eyes open for Varga.

Breaking free from the neck-and-neck dilemma so early was good; now all Erin had to worry about was her arms stiffening and the possibility of passing out from pushing the limits of her magical energy for too long.

In terms of competition, that race turned out to be one of the easiest for Erin. Only the French woman ever caught up to Erin, and with a few expert swerves and smart usage of the immense fogginess, she was able to get away from her without a problem. Unfortunately, Varga was far ahead.

Erin reached the turnaround point, a small island off the coast of Bettyhill, after what felt like just over two hours. The record held by Varga was four hours, two minutes, and thirty-eight seconds. Erin would have to speed it up and hope to Merlin she didn't need to perform anymore time-consuming swerves if she wanted to catch up to the Hungarian. Gritting her teeth, Erin followed the golden path around the island and zoomed back on the return path.

A nerve-wracking two hundred miles later, Erin saw the black speck among the fog that could only be Andrea Varga.

 _The only thing you can do is try your hardest and push your limits._

With the will to win in mind, Erin set a Silencing Charm on her broom and robes. She couldn't afford Andrea hearing her before she wanted to be heard. Erin pushed the limits of her broom, to some of the fastest speeds she had ever flown it. Her grip tight on the handle, she sped forward soundlessly, until she was right behind her competitor.

Then, the classic Varga move. Erin let herself freefall down into the opaque clouds and only started speeding forward again until she was sure she was ahead of Varga. She regretted not being able to at least see the look on the older woman's face when she took the lead.

Now, all that was left was to not lose her speed. Unfortunately, Erin underestimated Varga's craftiness.

With about ten miles to go, Varga appeared right beside Erin and swerved into her with such force that Erin almost fell off her broom. Her tight grip saved her, though, and she didn't hesitate to hit back. Soon enough, the two were caught in a painful shoulder wrestle but fortunately, Erin already knew what Varga would do.

When Varga allowed herself to freefall in the hopes that the blonde Irishwoman would lose control, Erin was prepared. Although it was difficult at first, Erin used all the strength she had in her arms to keep her broom righted and her speed constant. Varga put herself in second place, and Erin could see the finish line.

Her body was parallel to the broom and her face was so numb that she could no longer feel the water droplets hitting it. She could almost taste the gold when Varga caught up with her again, and in that moment, Erin allowed her desperation to take over.

Holding onto the broomstick handle with her left hand, she stretched her right arm forward. Then, at the last second, she released all the tension in her thighs. The high speeds and the strong magic of the broomstick caused an inertia that propelled her body across the finish line, broom still in hand.

Erin tumbled onto the grass, hitting her head and skidding to a stop on her right side. Head pounding and body in pain, she managed to lift her head enough to see the finish line glowing green for Ireland and the sour look on Andrea Varga's face.

Then her eyes flitted to the clock. Four hours, two minutes, and twenty-nine seconds.

 _I beat Varga. I beat the world record!_

Soon enough, her vision was swarmed by mediwitches and mediwizards, but not before catching a glimpse of familiar sandy hair amongst the crowd.

* * *

 _17 March 1999 | Night | The Sigurd Njordson Pavilion_

When Erin entered the pavilion named after the founder of broomstick racing, gold medal glinting around her neck, the room filled with applause and cheers. The World Finals were over, the party was in full swing, and she was the new Andrea Varga. She was Erin Donoghue, the youngest record-setter in the history of broomstick racing.

"Congratulations!"

Before she knew it, Erin was being held in a tight embrace by Audrey, a rare occasion in and of itself. She laughed and hugged her friend back. When the two broke apart, she saw Percy and Oliver approaching.

"I'm so proud, I knew you could do it," Audrey claimed with a wide grin on her face. "How do you feel?"

"Sore, and my head hurts," Erin admitted with a chuckle.

"You definitely took a tumble near the end," Percy noted.

"I did what I had to to win," she said with a shrug, her eyes momentarily flitting to Oliver.

"Well, take it easy tonight," Audrey warned. "Percy and I might leave a little earlier, so in case I can't say goodbye amidst your horde of fans, I just wanted to talk to you now."

Erin nodded. "Yeah, for sure," she said, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. "Enjoy yourself!" she added as Audrey and Percy departed, leaving just Erin and Oliver.

"So you'll have to watch your back for whatever young, cocky racer wants to take down Erin Donoghue next year," Oliver joked.

"Oh, it'll be a while before anyone takes me down," Erin stated confidently. "Thanks, by the way," she added, her tone softening. "For what you said to me before my race. It helped."

"Glad to hear it," Oliver replied with a nod. "So, could I possibly buy the victor some drinks?"

"Are you kidding me? It's St. Patrick's Day!" Erin exclaimed. "My last name isn't Donoghue if my liver isn't nearly gone by tomorrow morning."

Oliver laughed as the pair walked to the large bar set up in the pavilion and ordered their drinks. They took their seats and as soon as the glass slid into her hand, Erin downed it in one gulp and asked for another.

"Wow, you weren't kidding," Oliver chuckled.

"I'm doing twice the celebrating tonight," Erin argued. "One, for my Irish pride, and two, for my victory."

"Fair enough," Oliver agreed as he downed his drink as well. "See if you can keep up, shortstop."

Erin scoffed. "I could say the same to you," she stated, shaking her drink in his face.

"Ah, but I'm not short," Oliver teased.

Erin narrowed her eyes at him before downing her whiskey and ordering another. Oliver would regret this choice.

* * *

 _18 March 1999 | **Very** Early Morning | Audrey and Erin's flat_

"Let's go up the fire escape!"

"Erin, we are not going up the fire escape."

Erin turned to glare at Oliver and muttered something about him being a killjoy. Needless to say, she had not been able to keep up. Her Irish ancestors were probably rolling in their graves. Well, what's a girl to do when she's up against a six-foot tall, Quidditch-obsessed, very much in shape maniac? It wasn't her fault she just didn't have the genetics to get the job done.

"But the fire escape is right outside my bedroom window, it's _easier_ ," Erin whined.

"Front door," Oliver stated in a tone of finality as he gently pushed Erin into her apartment building and up the stairs.

" _Rabat-joie_ ," Erin muttered as she dragged her feet up the stairs.

Once the pair reached the door to Audrey and Erin's flat, Erin handed Oliver her keys with the sweetest smile she could possibly muster on her face. Oliver sighed and shook his head as he took the keys from Erin and unlocked the door, although she could tell he had a small smile on his face.

"Come on, let's put you to bed," Oliver said quietly as he helped Erin walk with minimal swaying to her room.

Erin twisted the doorknob and leaned forward, which was a silly idea. She fell forward and nearly hit her head again, but she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her torso and pull her back up on her feet. The grip around her waist loosened but didn't go away, and she turned around to face Oliver. With his arms around her like that, she was much closer than she had ever been to him. From this distance she could see small freckles on his nose and gold flecks in his eyes and the stubble growing on his face.

And before she knew it, Erin was standing on the tips of her toes, hands cupping Oliver's face as she kissed him. Her hands went into his sandy brown hair when she felt him kiss her back and press her against the wall in her room, but the feeling of euphoria was short-lived.

Oliver abruptly pulled away, his mouth slightly open, cheeks red, and lips swollen. "Come on, you should go to bed," he whispered.

"Are you saying _no_ to me, Oliver?" Erin slurred. "I'm the youngest record-setter in broomstick racing, _tu sais_?"

"Je sais," Oliver replied jokingly. "But you're drunk, and injured, and tired. You should go to bed."

"No!" Erin exclaimed. She broke away from him and moved to take off her shirt, but just as the fabric obscured her view, she took an odd step, slipped, and fell.

She heard Oliver hiss, "Shit!" before the world faded to black.

* * *

 _18 March 1999 | Late Morning | Audrey and Erin's flat_

Erin stared back at Oliver, who now seemed to be very awake, with blue eyes wide and face reddening from embarrassment at the recollection of last night's events. Oliver bit his lip (Merlin why would he do that to her?) and slowly sat up in bed, the covers falling to his waist to reveal his chest.

"So you're naked in my bed?" Erin demanded. _Is this really the first thing you say to him?_ Erin thought to herself. _How about bloody 'thank you,' Erin Donoghue?_

"I'm wearing boxers," Oliver replied, his hands up in a defensive manner as he quickly added, "and we didn't have sex."

"I _know_ that," Erin said with an irritated tone. "I remember that much at least," she added in a mutter.

"So, uh, where does it all go black?" Oliver asked.

"Right about when I slipped and fell," Erin replied.

"Ah, so you remember the whole - "

"Yup."

Silence filled the room as the two continued to hold each others' gazes. Tension filled the space between them and Erin felt stressed. How did she go from being so irritated by him to thinking it was a good idea to snog him? Must have been the alcohol.

However, even then, in her soberness, she thought there was a nice warmth that came with staring into his brown eyes, and she quite liked the way his brown hair stuck up in the morning. Looking at his arms reminded her of the feeling of having them around her, and that felt safe and comfortable. And that now visible stubble on his face made his features look much less boyish.

Plus, he had every opportunity to sleep with her and she wouldn't have objected at all. And yet, he did the chivalrous thing and just made sure she got into bed safely, then kept her company through the night. So there went her 'closeted ladies' man' theory.

"I get it, you were drunk," Oliver started. "Everyone does dumb things. I mean, bloody hell, what are the chances that a lass like you would come onto someone like me while _sober_?"

Erin's eyes widened and she sputtered out some gibberish. Oliver's features contorted into a light frown at her small outburst.

"I mean," Erin started with a clear of her throat. "That's - that's odd of you to say."

Oliver shrugged, embarrassment at what he had said dawning on his face, as he added, "Just spouting rubbish, don't listen to me." He stood up abruptly and grabbed his sweater from the nightstand. Erin stared shamelessly at the way his muscles moved as he pulled on the clothing.

She looked up and met his eyes, face heating up at the possibility of getting caught staring. "Why'd you say that?" she asked quietly.

Oliver sighed and looked away from her eyes. "I thought you were beautiful when I first met you, it's just as I got to know you and saw your personality that I realized my chances were slim."

Erin swallowed nervously as she processed Oliver's words. She had not seen that coming at all.

She didn't see her own words coming, either.

"Slim, but not impossible."

Oliver met Erin's eyes again, mild confusion etched on his face. "What do you - ?"

Erin cut him off by stepping forwards and kissing him. A moment later, his hands were on her waist, sliding along the sides of her body and under her shirt. She let her hands skim down his front and tugged at the hem of his sweater as she pulled away from the kiss, but stayed close enough that their noses touched.

"Sweaters are for men out of my league. Off with this, I say."

Oliver grinned and said, "You're a cheeky one, Erin Donoghue."

"You haven't seen anything yet," Erin retorted. "Now kiss me, I'm Irish."

* * *

 **Hope you enjoyed that! Reviews are much appreciated :)**


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